Pixilated (15 page)

Kree reached for his pack with a groan and
spread out the map he’d taken from Eldren. They were making better
time than he had dreamed possible, mostly because his body could
take tremendous punishment. He was beginning to think the
princess’s could too. If he pushed them just a little harder, they
could reach Temple Arbala by evening. Not having to spend another
night out in the open was a very appealing notion. For one thing,
he could finally get some sleep.

He pushed himself to his feet and got
Kayseri’s attention with a whistle and wave.

"Turn around." Kayseri yelled back at
him.

Kree made a show of turning his back. He
heard the girls splash ashore, and he did not try to sneak a peek
at Kayseri's wet nude body. If that was not discipline, he did not
know the meaning of the word.

Chapter Twelve

Arbala lay below them, a vast city by any
standard. Lamps glowing in the windows like so many stars piqued
Kayseri’s pixie curiosity. Just as the garrison dominated Qets, so
the Temple complex, its high walls lit by dozens of lamps,
dominated Arbala. Supporting businesses and private residences had
grown up around it in higgledy-piggledy fashion.

Eager to explore as Kayseri was, Kree’s
reluctance to enter the city puzzled her. He had insisted they come
here, had pressed them to hurry even though every mile was agony
for him. Now he sat on his horse staring down at the twinkling
lights as if it were the last place in the wide world he wanted to
go.

He dismounted, wet the tail of his shirt
with water from his water skin, and scrubbed the trail dirt off his
face. Kayseri frowned. A little dirt never bothered her captain. A
lot of dirt never bothered him. She had never known him to give a
hoot about his appearance and she had known him her whole life.

More surprising still, Kree exchanged the
plain rawhide strip holding his hair in a queue for the golden
gryphon filigree decorating his scabbard, and despite the lingering
summer heat, he donned the bright blue jacket that completed his
uniform before slipping on his arming harness. His eyes narrowed as
the added weight of two long ivory-handled fighting knives slightly
changed the angle of his shoulders, and Kayseri wondered once more
how serious his injuries really were. But mostly, she wondered why
he needed his knives.

Kayseri shifted in her saddle. "I thought
this was a safe place?"

Kree glanced up at her, his expression what?
Apologetic? "Yes. But here... In this place... Among Namar’s
faithful being Goddess-born is not merely a synonym for
illegitimate. While we rest here, I must
be
Goddess-born."

What was he talking about? "You are always
Goddess-born."

He pulled himself back into the saddle with
effort and a grimace. "You don't understand what Goddess-born is.
Not really. I don’t live as one at Qets." Kree shrugged to settle
his weapons, winced again. "When I was a boy, juggling the two
halves of my life was not very difficult, but the older I got, the
higher I rose within the faith, the more difficult it became.
Finally, I stopped trying." He flashed his beloved grin. "Help me
out while we're inside, little girl. Try not to make me look
foolish."

"I don’t know what you mean."

Kree winked at her. "I'm sure you
don’t."

The fancy wrought iron gates set in the
city’s whitewashed wall had closed for the night, but a light
burned in the small gatehouse set into one side of the wall.
Alerted by the sound of shod hoofs ringing on the cobbled street,
the gatekeeper stood on the stoop with a lantern in his hand.

"Who comes to Temple Arbala?"

"Kree Fawr."

The man stepped forward raising the lantern
as he came. "Is it really you, Gryphon?" The man sketched a bow.
"We have not seen you for—must be—nigh on five years or more."

"More." Kree narrowed his eyes at the
man

"Is this some sort of gathering then,
Gryphon?"

Kree blinked. "Are there other Goddess-born
in residence?"

"Oh, yes." The gatekeeper made stair steps
with his free hand. "Young ones." He hung the lantern on a hook and
opened the gate. "Meeting you'll be a treat for the young lads.
Does the Matriarch know you're coming in?"

"She does not."

"Then I should ring the bell?"

"Yes." Kree sighed. "Ring the bell, Trevor."
He kneed his horse forward.

The man smiled broadly, and Kayseri realized
the gatekeeper was pleased beyond measure that Kree called him by
name. How odd? Everyone knew Kree was devilish good with names.

"Good evening to you, Gryphon, and a good
evening to you young ladies, as well. Welcome to Arbala. Enjoy your
stay."

The avenue they traveled was wide enough for
two wagons abreast. Kree encouraged them to ride on his left
leaving his sword arm clear. Bells rang as they passed through the
gate, three peals, a pause, three peals, and a pause repeating.

"What does that pattern mean?" Kayseri
asked.

Kree glanced at her with a quick grin. He
liked it when she noticed little things. "They announce a
high-degree Goddess-born is returning to the Temple."

People poured out of the shops and
restaurants to watch their progress. Women, young and old, rushed
into the street offering Kree flowers. He tucked their offerings
under his arming harness. Once he kissed the offered blossom and
handed it back to the middle-aged woman whose offering it had been.
Her friends crowded around her as if he had handed her a purse full
of gold. Old men doffed their hats, bowed their heads. Little boys
darted into the street and touched his boots.

In Kayseri's experience, Kree discouraged
every sort of display among his troopers, refusing honorifics,
shunning salutes. She leaned in and whispered to Sandahl. "My
Captain hates people fussing over him.

They watched a woman hold up a baby to him.
Kree touched the child’s head in passing. "He does not seem to hate
it," Sandahl said."

By the time they reached the Temple, the
broad front gates stood open. They rode through without challenge.
Here no one approached them as they had in the city, but Templemen
gathered in the doorways and porches to watch Kree pass by.
Kayseri, creature of the woodland that she was, found such scrutiny
claustrophobic. She was relieved when they reached the Temple.

Built of pink granite, the building soared
three stories. Kayseri had not seen a grander building, even in
Elhar. A plump priestess wearing a green gown stood just inside the
arched doorway. Despite the bright light spilling from the open
doorway, the priestess held a candle.

Kree slipped off his horse and helped
Sandahl then Kayseri dismount. Two girls in simple white shifts
took charge of their horses. Kree gave Kayseri’s waist a little
squeeze then turned toward the open door.

The plump priestess dropped a deep curtsey.
"Welcome home, Goddess-born Gryphon." Ushering his Wilderkin before
him, Kree followed the women inside.

Two more priestesses dressed in blue, waited
beside a marble table upon which sat a large white porcelain bowl.
One of the women held a cut crystal pitcher of water; the other had
a soft white towel draped across her hands. Kree held his hands
over the bowl allowing the first woman to pour water over them. The
scent of cinnamon and cloves filled the air. The second woman dried
his hands. Ritual completed, they dropped into deep curtsies, and
Kree blew out the candle.

"I regret that you may not immediately take
your ease, Namar's Gryphon, but the Matriarch is most eager to see
you," said the green-clad priestess.

"I live to serve." Kree touched his
fingertips to his heart, a gesture Kayseri had seen him make a
million times—only this was not his usual mocking gesture.

The priestess led them down a long marble
hallway. Kayseri gazed around trying to take everything in at once.
The colorful tapestries depicting the Goddess Namar in various
poises of battle, play, and passion decorating the hall held her
spellbound. Could people really bend like that? Only the pressure
of Kree’s hand at the small of her back kept her moving
forward.

Many rooms opened off this central hallway.
Kayseri paused in one doorway to listen to two boys with long
braided hair make war upon a piano in what was obviously a music
room before Kree herded her into the Matriarch’s study and closed
the door.

Designed to intimidate and impress, this was
still very much a woman’s room. Intricate patterned rugs artfully
softened the white marble floor. Two opulent couches in mauves and
creams bordered a massive craved marble fireplace. The far corner
of the room was devoted to music holding another piano, a great
harp, and smaller stringed instruments propped upon their stands.
There were several intimate seating areas, colorful chairs, and
ebony side tables, arranged throughout the room, and it was from
one of these seating areas that the Matriarch rose to greet them.
She was a tall woman dressed in a simple soft white robe. Vibrant
crimson trimmed the robe’s high collar. Grey frosted once blond
hair scraped back into a severe bun, but her jade-green eyes
reminded Kayseri of Kree.

Kree motioned for Kayseri and Sandahl to
wait while he greeted the Matriarch. He took the Lady’s hands,
kissed them, and sank to one knee as gracefully as he could manage
on his injured leg He remained in his kneeling position with his
head bowed waiting for her to acknowledge him.

"Mother," he said, when her silence had
stretched too long.

The Matriarch lifted Kree's single braid and
let it fall from her fingers.

"What have you done, Goddess-born?"

"I have lost my faith, Mother."

"Lost it or cast it from you?"

Kree glanced up. "Does it matter?"

The woman softened a fraction, but she
quickly masked herself in austerity. "I do not suppose it does,
Goddess-born. But if what you say is true, what is it you seek
here?"

He took the Matriarch’s hands again. The
gesture begged favor, and a twinge of anger stirred in Kayseri's
heart. Her Captain begged for nothing.

"I seek rest, Mother. I have taken an
injury. My contract is weary. I seek a healer for myself and for
them."

The woman’s cold eyes flickered over Kayseri
and Sandahl. "Namar loves all her sons, even her lost ones. You
will have all you desire, Goddess-born and more. You may rise.

"Claudine, take charge of these Wilderkin.
Feed them, bathe them, and provide clean clothing for them. We will
send the healer to them after he has seen to our son. Ready Kree’s
suite for his use." She paused, considering. "He will want his
contract close I think. Put them in the solar."

"Yes, Mother." The priestess bowed, and
turned to Kayseri. "If you young ladies will follow me, we will
make you comfortable."

Sandahl hesitated and Kayseri understood
why. She did not want to leave Kree with this menacing old woman
either, and if this lady was his
mother
then she could use
some nurturing lessons.

Seeing their reluctance, Kree stepped toward
them, stopped, and turned to the Matriarch. "May I have permission
to withdraw?"

"Not yet. I wish to speak with you
privately."

Kree took a parade-rest stance and mouthed
the word
go
to Kayseri. Seeing her autocratic captain
subjugated filled her with the fear a mercenary attack had failed
to inspire. She hated this place, and she hated her mischief for
bringing them here. She held Sandahl’s hand lending the elf girl a
measure of her own false confidence and followed the priestess.

The moment the door closed the Matriarch
embraced Kree, careful of his ribs. Like mothers everywhere, she
had a sixth sense about her only child's wellbeing. He had never
been able to hide anything from her.

"With those whiskers you look exactly like
your father."

"That's what people tell me."

She stepped back. "You don't remember your
father?"

"I remember he loved me. I remember the
things he taught me. I remember how he used to say, if you live one
more day, boy, I'd be mighty impressed. But how he looked...not
really."

The Matriarch crossed to a small writing
desk, picked up a silver hand mirror and handed it to Kree.
"Picture yourself with kind brown eyes instead of those chips of
green ice you inherited from me." She took his hands in her own and
held his arms away from his sides appraising him. "You've lost
weight and you look exhausted. How long has it been since you last
tasted nectar?"

His hand covered hers as she sorted through
a small ivory box with rows of tiny silver flasks inside. "Three
years, seven months, two days. Tell me the time and I will give you
hours and minutes."

She stared up at him "How is that possible,
son?"

He had dreaded this moment. How do you tell
your mother you have forsaken not just Goddess nectar, but
everything she believes? "Lathan Bruin helped me break its hold."
He rushed on before she could speak. "It’s true, I have lost
muscle. I have to work harder to maintain my form now, and I am not
as quick as I once was. But, Mother, no one can use my dependence
on nectar against me and for that, I'm stronger."

The Matriarch studied him for a moment in
silence. Finally, she said, "You do not miss it?"

Kree snorted. "Miss it? Most days I feel
like I’ve rolled naked in a patch of nettles. Some days it’s even
worse."

"And you're content with this?"

"A man does what he must. You taught me
that."

"Yes. I suppose I did."

The Matriarch lowered herself onto the
couch, her face parchment pale. Kree could not blame her. Cutting
his hair was one thing. Many disillusioned Goddess-born had done so
over the years. She would forgive that, but this. Goddess nectar
marked him as Namar’s own almost as much as the small cartouche
branded alongside his right ear. He may as well have destroyed it
as well. Such a thing had not occurred in the whole history of
their faith.